The Petals in the Moon
by fictionfan007
Summary: After her little brother dies in a car accident, Corey blames herself. She struggles with her grief and a year later, after getting an ok from her doctors, her parent decide to move. Corey and her family hope for a new start in the Quileute reservation in Washington State. Will Corey be able to cope with the guilt that seems to be eating her alive? Will she meet someone who helps?


I can remember a lot of things; from the color of stranger's eyes, to every skinny branch on my favorite tree. You could say that I have great memory. I can even recall memories that, normally, would be long gone. For instance, one wouldn't normally remember the first time they skinned their knee or forgot to tie their shoe laces. However, having a great memory isn't always a blessing. I know from experience.

I can remember how excited he was for the trip. He would ask every day "how much longer?" When he turned five, I promised him that, for his sixth birthday party, when I would finally be granted some freedom, I would take him to the beach. It was his favorite place and we were going to spend all day there.

But, we never made it to the beach. I wonder sometimes how differently everything would be right now. If I had turned down the radio and paid more attention to the road then maybe...

If.

The word used to seem so simple, meaning nothing more than what it was; a noun, a conjunction. But, it was kind of funny now, if one had that sick sense of humor, of course. You say the word without a second thought. It means nothing to you.

If.

The word was nothing to a normal person. But, to me, the word was guilt. It was nothing less than an indescribable pain that haunted me to my core. It was a noun that has crushed me ever since I killed my little brother. No, the word wasn't simple to me at all.

Of course, they try not to blame me. But, I can tell that they do, and they have every right to. It is my fault that Cameron is gone. It is my fault that, a year ago, my parents lost their six-year-old son in a car accident. And it is my fault that I was in a coma for two months after the accident. I missed his funeral.

After the doctors declared me stable enough to travel, my parents packed everything up and sold our house. They wanted to move, to start over fresh. Quite frankly, it was because we couldn't handle the memories of Cameron. We couldn't handle it the day that my mother had her first breakdown. After months of keeping his room exactly how it was, she destroyed almost everything in it.

We were careful not to choose anything even remotely similar to our old home, mostly because of the fear that it would damage my mother's mental health. Washington was almost the exact opposite. It's cold and rainy weather held a great contrast to the warm and sunny Florida. I knew that I would miss the sun. But, my mother needed this, we all did.

My father doesn't speak to me much anymore and even though I had many questions about our new home, I didn't dare to speak to him. I only talked to my father when it was absolutely necessary. Out of both of my parents, I could feel that he blamed me more. I had killed his only son.

The flight was long, but I spent most of my time on my cellphone, googling pictures of Washington and its' reservations. Although I didn't ask what exact part of Washington we were moving, I had heard my father mention something about a reservation. There were many of them in Washington State. The list consisted of the Kalispel, Lummi, Makah, Nisqally, Quinault, Quileute and many more.

After an almost six-hour flight, the plane landed. I could see the icy rain from my window seat as I pulled on my heavier jacket. Grabbing my bag, I sat and waited for some of the passengers to clear off before following behind my parents. An old friend of my fathers would be picking us up from the airport and, despite my shyness, I was eager to see more of our new home.

After we gathered our bags, my dad got a call from the friend of his that would be driving us. I hated meeting new people because at first they didn't know anything about you. You start to feel almost like a normal person again. But, as soon as they hear about the tragedy, their eyes change. They look at you differently, as if you might suddenly break and burst into tears. Then, their apologies come next, filled pitting glances. I sighed, definitely not a people's person.

My father's friend arrived driving the rental car that we would be using; a silver suburban. As we loaded our things into the back of the vehicle, I glanced at my father. He was talking to his friend; the chief of police in Forks, Washington. The man was in his mid-forties with curly brown hair and a mustache. My eyes lowered to the name on his uniform. Swan.

I quickly diverted my eyes when my father glanced at me and grabbing my carry-on bag I climbed into the vehicle. After a few more minutes, our things were completely loaded into the back of the suburban. My dad sat in the front with his friend and my mom and I in the seats behind him. With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and put on my headphones.

The drive to our new home was a little longer than expected and after about ten minutes I was eager to get out of the car. Having not seen his friend for a long while, Chief Swan and my father had a lot to talk about. He introduced my mother and me before asking the Chief how he has been. The conversation was a blur from then on and I turned my music louder, staring out of the window.

Everything was so different here. The trees that would, normally, have a warm brown trunk were covered in green. The color was everywhere, growing on any possible place that it could. Different, I thought.

Different was good.

I admired the scenery for most of the drive, my eyes slowly adjusting to the bright greens and gloomy light. After watching the trees pass by, my eyes glanced toward the road ahead. A green and white sign was to the side of the rode and I squinted my eyes trying to read it.

Quileute Reservation

Tribal center 1 ¾ mile

Welcome to the Quileute Indian Reservation

The words contrasted against the green background of the sign and I blinked looking towards the grey sky. It was beginning to drizzle again and as I leaned my head against the window, I could see my reflection. My sun-tanned skin would soon fade after a while of this weather. Sighing, I ran a hand through my dark hair before putting it up with the white hairband that was around my wrist. I was still tired from flying and couldn't wait to change clothes.

Feeling the vehicle come to complete stop, I turned off my music and sat up strait in the seat. My father opened his door and climbed out of the car. Gazing out of the window, I pressed my fingers against the glass. We were parked in front of a small light-blue house with dark-blue shutters. It was two stories and from what I could tell, it was surrounded by trees. I didn't remember seeing many houses on the way here. Good, I thought, must not be many people around.

Pulling open the door, I put my bag over my shoulder and stepped out of the suburban. Charlie handed over the house keys to my dad and went to help my mom and me with the suitcases. The chief of police had been a lot of help with moving. When we shipped some of our belongings here, he had gotten them for us and kept them in his house until we got here. Tomorrow we would have to go and get them.

After carrying out bags inside, my parents went to check out the rest of the house. I walked slowly down the hall towards where they said my room was. The floorboards creaked a little in some places and I tried to memorize the pattern. My new room was a little larger than my old one. The walls were painted with a light-green, and a twin-sized bed was pushed against the wall to my left. Walking further in, my eyes wander to the large window right next to my bed. I would need curtains.

My parent's excitement over a new home died down by dinnertime, and I was glad. It was strange seeing them like this, even though they looked only a tiny bit happier. I was used to quiet and short conversations, ones that didn't involve small smiles or extended replies. There was something new, I thought, taking a bite from the pizza that we were eating for dinner. The feeling was frightening and I glanced at my parent's faces.

It was too soon for this. I wasn't ready to stop mourning for Cameron. My parents were a little happier now that we left our home and the memories. It was good for them to move on. But, somehow, it felt wrong for me to do anything but mourn for him. It is my fault, it is my fault that he isn't here with us. I had only taken one bite out of my slice of pizza and I knew that I should probably eat more, but it suddenly tasted vulgar. Grabbing my paper plate, I threw it and the pizza in the trash.

I could feel my parent's eyes on me and I turned around.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed." My voice was quiet and I tried to keep it steady.

Nodding, my mom stood up from her chair. "I brought clean sheets for the bed. They are in the purple bag I'll get them for you-" Shaking my head I cut her off. "No. That's fine, I will get them myself. Finish eating." Giving me a worried look, she sat back down in her chair. Answering her worried look, I gave her a forced smile and then headed towards her room.

I put the sheets the bed in my room before kneeling down next to one of my suitcases. My hands searched through the bag before finding the familiar soft fabric. The blanket that I pulled out of my bag was about the size of a baby blanket. Holding it to my chest, I turned off my bedroom light and then climbed into bed. The blanket was the only thing that I had left of my little brother. Hugging it tighter to my chest, I let the darkness take over my tired mind.


End file.
